Three of Hearts by Lillian Lark

Author:Lillian Lark [Lark, Lillian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lillian Lark
Published: 2020-11-09T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Zephyrine

I toss the empty pint of ice cream into the garbage before resting my cheek on the kitchen counter. The granite provides a cold soothing sensation and I want to melt against it. I fled the bed I’d shared with two men a few hours ago. A bath, preparing rice, and a freak-out serving size of ice cream later and I’m now capable of taking full breaths. I still don’t know, exactly, what I am going to do.

Specifically, I don’t know how to tell my family. I want to keep the men … my mates. The term makes my heart both jump and drop. It won’t feel like flying in loop-de-loops every time I think of them, will it? I’ll get used to it eventually. Right?

I’m going to embrace this. Having two mates. The silence of my house helps drive home how much I miss them. We’ve only known each other for a day, but I can’t imagine not seeing them again.

I’ll get through the family BBQ tonight and then go back to Asa’s to face the music for having run, no matter how predictable it was. I’ll stop being a coward. As if the universe has read my mind, my phone starts rattling on the countertop with multiple texts.

I don’t need to check who the texts are from because two minutes later my front door opens, and the horde descends.

“Zeph! We’re here! Did you pick up more saffron?” my mother yells from the door and I force myself to lift my head from the counter. It’s time to use all my terrible acting skills to make sure my family doesn’t see whatever emotional issues I’m dealing with right now.

“Yes Mâmân, I needed it for the rice,” I call back. My mother enters the kitchen toting bins of raw meat mixture for kabobs. Followed by my father, who carries a giant covered pot with oven mitts. Food is how our family communicates. I’m sure that Greg will fit right in. When I felt daring enough to bring him around.

Mom places the bins on the counter before looking at me with narrowed eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

Tact doesn’t exist among relations. I share a look with Dad over her shoulder and he just shrugs. So much for acting.

“Nothing,” I say, and I get up and give her and Dad a hug and a kiss before helping with food. We put the pot of fesenjan, the second entree of the evening, on the stove to reheat. Amara is in charge of cooking the fragrant walnut pomegranate chicken stew, her specialty. My mouth starts to water from the tangy warm scent of the rich dish. It’s a dish meant for cold weather, to warm your bones, but Amara experiments with the flavors year-round.

“Mom thinks you look like shit,” Luca says as he follows my parents in and flashes a smile at me. He’s the youngest of the family and could charm the clothes off a nun. After Luca comes Amara, who rolls her eyes.

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